Kol Nidre
by Sky Blue Angel
Summary: It's Yom Kippur and House had to avoid Wilson somehow. When he finds himself driving in circles around a building he barely remembers, sometihng draws him in.
1. Kol Nidre

iWhither can I go from Your spirit

iWhither can I go from Your spirit?/i

House was careful to avoid Wilson on Yom Kippur, knowing what he saw in the other man's eyes. But there was something more that day, spending more time outside the hospital than Wilson ever did. It was too solemn of a day to spend near the oncologist or the other Jewish members of the staff. He'd lost track of those folks too long ago for him to safely avoid their gaze in the hallway. And so House found himself outside again, standing at the glass doors to the hospital. He was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. There had to be something worth doing.

There was nothing to do but limp to his car and leave. Simple as that and nothing more, he knew. There was no patients and clinic hours for the day tended to be covered by Wilson or another guilt-ridden Israelite with an urge for repentance and masochism. House knew even Cuddy wouldn't bother him for a day.

iWhither can I flee from Your presence?/i

There weren't too many places to go on a Thursday afternoon. House didn't know any he wanted to go, at least. Nothing good alone and he found himself circling a building he almost recognized. The wood seemed familiar, at least. So he pulled into the almost-full parking lot, ignored the cops leaning on the posts and dragged himself to the front doors.

He knew why he recognized the doors the instant he saw the Hebrew inscription. Wilson had been married in a temple the first time, traditional everything the most important to his parents and hers. House had been there, sitting in the back with the other gentile and misunderstanding every other word. The real plus side had been the food and surprisingly comfortable chairs.

iIf I ascend to Heaven, You are there!/i

A few overly enthusiastic and yet endearingly serious ushers greeted him at the door, smiling gently and asking him why he was there. Though they had been collecting tickets before he'd set foot through the glass and wood doors, it didn't seem to matter. They let him pass with only a few comments. House wondered if it was common for gentiles to go wandering the streets on Yom Kippur, abandoned by their Jewish friends. But the temple was nice enough and he knew the seats were comfortable.

One of the ushers pointed him to the main room, guiding him to a seat next to the door. He could hear the Hebrew echoing through the room, settling into the seat and trying to think of something else. But the cantor (that's what he though the singer was called) did have a good singing voice. And the girl in front of him had one worse than he could pleasantly imagine.

iIf I make my home in the lowest depths, behold, You are there!/i

The Hebrew, admittedly, didn't mean anything to House. But there was interspersing English and a sermon he almost found interesting. The prayer book in front of him wasn't the same as the rest and he gave up after the first four pages didn't match up and it didn't matter because everyone else had it memorized. So he settled back into the seat, leaning his cane on the chair back in front of him, listening to the hum of music and wondering how much of it was on iTunes.

He found himself concentrating on a cello solo as the music flowed, haunting notes coming and fading with the voice of the choir. The song had never been named but the congregation paid silent and close attention. House found himself trying to recognize the notes, though he knew that was hopeless. It simply seemed such common knowledge writ upon the other's faces.

iIf I take up the wings of the morning/i

As the music faded out and people began to jostle their way out, House grabbed for a red prayer book. Someone had left their son their seat, bright against the dark cushioning. It took a few moments of him flipping through the pages to find some transliterated Hebrew he thought he recognized. The song was Kol Nidre, accompanied by a paragraph of translations. A simple prayer, he noticed.

Just another promise to be broken and one that couldn't even be punished. People lied and then expected God not to even care. That was all he saw in the prayer, nothing that the looks on the congregant's faces told him he should have seen. And he knew why Wilson had stopped going after all. The prayers were too much, throwing a people at the mercy of God and giving them no hope. They groveled and begged for forgiveness. Nothing more sickening than groveling in a foreign language.

iAnd dwell on the ocean's farthest shore/i

He left the synagogue more understanding then he had entered, though he couldn't claim to be certain. There had to be something said for the fact that Wilson had stopped groveling. After all, no grown man needed to sit around and beg forgiveness from a God who couldn't even forgive all his crimes. That was the lesson Wilson had always wanted to teach him. Man must forgive man for his crimes. Three times he must be asked, and on the third God would forgive if man could not.

Wilson had never asked for forgiveness, not so directly. House would never had come out and said it the way the prayer book wept over, bleeding prose like a dying patient. It didn't mean anything after a few pages. But there was something different feeling about the wind in his hair as he drove back towards the hospital, judging the sun half-set. He could grab his stuff and go without a word.

iEven there Your hand will lead me /i

The stopover at the grocery store was an unexpected thought. House wasn't sure why he wanted to do something different. It had been simple enough for years, one day they'd avoid each other. Even Cuddy knew that. But after the service, after listening to age old words and older wishes, he felt something else would be appropriate. The apple was just the first produce he found, grabbed off a shelf and shoved into a bag. He found honey by accident, a Jewish customer next to him extolling the virtues of the tradition far louder than he needed.

Both items ended up tossed in the back of his car, thumping and rolling with each turn as he made his way back to the hospital. Everyone knew that the sunset was a marker of sorts for the Jews, everyone avoiding the cafeteria by then. Then lines went around the corner as they waited for the fast to break. He could save Wilson from that line and get some entertainment at the same time. And if they talked a bit too much, they did. It was Yom Kippur. All would be forgiven.

iYour right hand will hold me/i


	2. Unetanah tokef

iHow many shall pass away and how many shall be born/i

i_How many shall pass away and how many shall be born,_/i

The sun had barely begun to set as Wilson sat at his desk, staring the now-empty inbox that had kept him occupied the last few hours. Cuddy knew better than let him on duty in the afternoon on Yom Kippur. She claimed he was inattentive, more worried about breaking his fast than the patients he was supposed to be treating. It might have been true. Wilson hated to admit something like that. But the sun was setting and, any moment then, he would stand and weave his way to the cafeteria. Anything sounded good then, event he remnants of the food he had avoided all day.

i_Who shall live and who shall die,_/i

House had been surprisingly aware, he thought, avoiding his office when he normally would have come and offered food. Even games and distractions seemed wrong on such a solemn day. The patients had come first for the hours he had worked clinic duty, doing both his work and House's. It only felt right to ease other's suffering that day. And as his stomach started to growl more fiercely he focused more. Their suffering was so like his own, small and unimportant to everyone but themselves.

i_Who shall reach the end of his days and who shall not,_/i

Most of the day had struck Wilson as atypically symbolic, something he often noted on holidays. Skipping synagogue always struck him as childish. But the hospital needed him, so he came in. There was no clause in contract giving him a day off to recite Hebrew litany he was only partially sure he believed in anymore.

i_Who shall perish by water and who by fire,_/i

There was a single prayer he still remembered from when he'd gone and listened to the words, rather than just mouthing off multi-syllabic prayers in a foreign language. Wilson had found, that through out the years, he couldn't forget some things. Apples and honey to break a fast, latkes in December, a week of matzah sometime in the Spring. But at some point he'd stopped believing.

i_Who by sword and who by wild beast,_/i

It might have been when they called him in the day after Yom Kippur to tell him a child had died at midnight. He remembered that too clearly, all too clearly. She'd been a patient, an easily treatable and high survival rate childhood leukemia patient. Her house had burnt down, the smoke alarms broken and the entire family had fallen victim to smoke and flames before the neighbors even noticed. He remembered cursing G-d ­(he still thought that with a dash in the center, ancient lessons never truly forgotten) that day, recalling prayers and wishes that had never been answered.

i_Who by famine and who by thirst,_/i

House's infarction hadn't happened anywhere near Yom Kippur, for which he was thankful. Then he had been drifting away, finding more comfort in searching for answers than trying the ones people claimed to have already found. But when the day of atonement came again, he had to ask himself to forgive. He tried to ask it of House. But all he got was a grunt and a snarl.

i_Who by earthquake and who by plague,_/i

The years had passed and nothing had changed. He worked on Yom Kippur and fasted. Both of them worked together to remind him why he had to repent. Too many people died and yet he lived on, unharmed. House worked beside him and he didn't let anything change. But on Yom Kippur, Wilson knew he thought too deep.

i_Who by strangulation and who by stoning,_/i

He tried not to think of the patient sheets as books of life and death, writing out goals and sentences to be carried out. G-d was not on Earth, standing over his shoulder and watching to see what he thought. Yet he hoped they would be obeyed, writing only the best he could on the day of atonement. This was his book of life, urging each one of them to live for that one more year, month, day, hour sometimes.

i_Who shall have rest and who shall wander,_/i

Someone always died on Yom Kippur. Wilson had to accept that, he knew. There was no day of the year when everyone would live. He hated it. The prayers did no good in the end. Sometimes the book of life was seemed closer to the book of death, sentencing each patient and doctor to another year of searching and failing and watching the end come closer. He still heard litanies in his head as he walked the hallowed hospital halls, chanting Hebrew echoing through his memories.

i_Who shall be at peace and who shall be pursued,_/i

Yom Kippur was a day for no secrets, a day to forgive and forget. Just as House could do neither, Wilson did both. He accepted other's faults for a day, saw them as necessary and did nothing. But in acceptance he saw what often he did not. His marriages often failed a few days after Yom Kippur, or began their slow slip into despair. He saw the truth for that day. The tiny truths in words and actions and what other people said and meant.

i_Who shall be at rest and who shall be tormented,_/i

House stayed far from him on Yom Kippur. They never talked that day, never spoke a single word. Wilson knew too much for those hours, that night and that day. He saw too clearly for his dearest friend and they both knew that truth. Neither would speak it. But in that day they knew. And so each stayed apart, a ritual Cuddy had accepted and would follow. She's tried to stop it the first time it had happened, worrying they had somehow broken their little friendship. But a curt and sarcastic lie from House and a more diplomatic but equally untrue speech from Wilson had convinced her otherwise.

i_Who shall become rich and who shall be impoverished._/i

Yom Kippur was Wilson's day for thought. But as the sunset behind his office and darkness came, he knew he could stop. He had to stand, to go and get some food to quell the ache in his stomach and the pounding in his heart. As he moved to stand, to leave, the doorway darkened with a familiar shadow. House stared at Wilson with eyes too blue to ever be Jewish, a thought Wilson let trickle through with an amused but rueful laugh. The sun had set, Yom Kippur was over. They could go back to being themselves.

"Here." House tossed an apple onto Wilson's desk, watching the green skin bruise as it bounced on the hardwood. "Nothing else edible left. But there's Chinese in my 'fridge."

Wilson fought down a smile, taking the apple and biting down. It was sour, crunchy and smooth and delicious but still sour. He enjoyed less then he should have, wondering what he was missing. Nothing came to mind until a sound entered his enjoyment.

House's cane was tapping the side of his desk, the other man's eyes focused on something Wilson could barely see. Leaning closer, a tiny plastic container of honey lay on the desk, already pulled open and obviously stolen from the cafeteria. He almost laughed, breaking off a piece of the apple and dipping it carefully into the amber liquid.

"To a sweet new year." Wilson laughed then, crunching off the apple and honey and swallowing. He grabbed his briefcase and stepped next to House. "L'shana tovah"

i_But repentance, prayer and righteousness avert the severe decree._/i


End file.
